Until the Sun Shines Again
by Falcom
Summary: As the saying goes, you gotta hit rock bottom before things can get better. For Dave Karofsky rock bottom means a failed suicide and institutionalization for clinical depression. It can only go up from there. T for language Eventual KurBlainSky friendship
1. Prologue

**Dis****claimer:** I don't own Glee, it's characters, or anything else involved in it. Nor do I claim to own any locations that will make an appearance later on in the story; I only own Grace Karofsky.

**Author's Note: **It took me a little over two weeks to research for this story (which is an on-going process) and to write this prologue. Every few chapters or so will be told in alternating POVs from various people close to Kurt and Dave, as well as the two of them themselves. It is _highly_ unlikely it's going to have any (or any long-lasting) non-angsty/dark scenes for a while, so be warned. It's canon up until 2x08, and will probably be AU from 2x09 on.

_This story is unbeta'd._

_Edited for minor fixes 12/10/2010.  
_

Enjoy. :)

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**Until the Sun Shines Again**

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_Prologue_

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_"When it is dark enough, you can see the stars."  
~Ralph Waldo Emerson_

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If someone were to describe Grace Karofsky, they would tell you that she was a proud mother of a son and daughter – one in high school, the other in college – and was a loving, devoted wife to her husband. They would say that her children were some of the most well-behaved, well-mannered children that they'd ever had the pleasure of meeting, and must have been the types to not rebel or act out due to the overwhelming love they received at home. They would say that she was the perfect mother, the perfect wife, the woman that women everywhere should model themselves after.

To an extent it was all true- she loved her children more than anything else in the world, and her husband just as much. She was a hard worker that took nothing for granted and took special care of the people around her. She was kind, caring, and lovable; she had a good family, lived in a good part of town, had a good job...by all rights her life was absolutely perfect without a flaw in sight.

But her life was far from perfect and it was only a matter of time before the other shoe fell.

And fall it certainly did.

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When she had returned home that fateful day, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Her husband was still at work as usual (he started and ended work two hours after her) and David was at hockey practice, which didn't end until 5, still half-an-hour away. Or, rather, he _should _have been at practice, but as it was, she would soon find out, he never managed to make it there.

With a long-winded sigh she set the groceries she had gotten on the table and walked over to the phone hanging on the wall, whose incessantly blinking red light alerted her that messages awaited her attention. Deftly she pushed the 'play' button before she returned to the groceries' side to put them away, her attention only half pinned on what the answering machine was reciting back to her.

There were two messages.

The first was from her husband informing her that he'd be late coming home and that she needn't set aside any dinner for him, and that he loved her (they've been married for 20 years now and that still brought a girlish smile to her lips).

The second message, however, made her pause with what she was doing and stare in confusion at the phone as if it were more than an automated message sent from...David's school of all places.

_"This is the William McKinley High School Attendance Office, calling to inform you that your child, David Karofsky, was absent or tardy for one or more periods."_

The rest of the message (something about a contact number if she had any questions about her son's absence or tardy) flew past her head as she sat down heavily into one of the chairs at the table. Tears sprung to her eyes- would she ever have any respite from her son's recent – as of a couple of months ago, as far as she remembered – turn toward misbehavior? It was something she'd rather not think about but was forced to on a daily basis, ever since he got argumentative and confrontational. He used to be a well-behaved, caring boy too...

A noise caught her attention from the direction of the stairs, instantly making her apprehensive. A chilling thought interrupted her worries about her son: what if someone had broken into the house?

Cautiously Grace stood and slid the chair back under the table where it initially _hadn't_ been, then tip-toed her way to the phone. Quietly she removed it from the charging port, and, finger on the first number in 911 just in case it was an emergency, she slowly made her way to the stairs. When she arrived at the base of the stairs, she couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary, and, deciding that she would learn nothing by staying where she was, carefully – slowly – made her way up, pausing every couple of steps to listen for any noises that were strange to hear in a house that was supposed to have been empty aside from her. When she reached the top nearly two minutes later she stopped and surveyed her surroundings.

The doors leading to all the bedrooms were closed as they were supposed to be, as were the doors that led to the closet at the end of the hall and the bathroom. Nervously she let out a sigh – maybe she had just been hearing things? – and turned to go back down the stairs when she froze, gaze locked on the light streaming through the crack under the bathroom door that _definitely_ shouldn't have been there. With panic rushing through her veins she quickly took the few steps to the nearest room, opened the door, practically _throwing _herself inside, and shut it behind her, all the while praying that whoever it was in the house with her hadn't noticed.

Her hands shook as she locked the door with one and held the phone up to her ear with the other, her finger poised over the '9' as she readied herself to make the call. She turned and put her back against the door as she hit the '9' followed by one of the '1's before she paused and took in what lay before her. Momentarily – and it truly was only for a moment – did she forget just _why_ she had gone into that room in the first place when her gaze landed on a backpack that shouldn't have been there, along with David's cell phone and iPod (things he professed to never leave behind whenever he'd leave the house). Puzzled, Grace glanced down at the door handle to make sure she had indeed locked it before she walked over to the cell phone and picked it up, the other phone held forgotten in her other hand.

Hesitantly (she always hated breaking her children's privacy) she unlocked it and was greeted with a notification of "5 Unheard Voice Mails" and another notification of "4 Unread Messages". Curiosity getting the better of her, she ignored the messages and immediately went to the voice mail. An angry voice greeted her.

"Where the _fuck_ are you man? Practice started like half an hour ago! Coach is fucking _pissed _at you! Get your ass over here!"

Followed by another, sent not even five minutes after the first, from what sounded like the same person:

"God_damn_it Karofsky! Answer your fucking phone! Coach is gonna have your ass if you don't hurry the fuck up and get here!"

The third from a different person, this one much calmer:

"Karofsky, man, seriously, you need to get here. Coach's gonna make our practices longer if you don't at least _call _the guy to tell him why your ditchin' out on us!"

The fourth one from a voice she recognized as being Coach Jones, David's hockey coach:

"Dave, I don't know what's going on but I'm starting to get worried about you. It's not like you to skip practice – and school, if what your teammates are telling me is correct – and even less like you to not inform me about your absence. Please call back- we've been trying to get a hold of you for nearly 15 minutes now."

The fifth and final voice mail only contained three words:

"Fuck you, man."

With that the messages ended.

Stunned, Grace ended the call and put the phone back on David's desk, her hand going slack as soon as she released it. David...hadn't gone to practice. David...hadn't gone to school, a fact only reinforced by what his coach ended up letting out. His stuff didn't look like they had changed location much since that morning now that she thought about it, a thought that replaced the previous feeling of fear with red-hot anger.

While feeling absolutely _ridiculous_ for being afraid just moments earlier, she turned back toward the door, unlocked it, and roughly threw it open before she practically stormed across the way to the bathroom. Angrily she pounded on the door. "David Karofsky, if you're in there get out here _now!"_

A few moments of silence followed by more pounding and yelling yielded no results. Her anger only escalating further, Grace grabbed the door knob and turned it, surprise running through her at the realization that it wasn't locked. David _always_ locked the door to the bathroom, a habit he had acquired ever since his sister started playing pranks on him when he was still in elementary school. Suddenly unsure about what she'd find – David wasn't hurt, was he? – she slowly opened the door and froze with a loud gasp as the phone she was holding clattered loudly to the floor.

David – her son, her _baby_ – was sprawled on his side across the bathroom floor, entire body limp and unmoving. Near him was the bottle of Tylenol that she had bought not 4 days ago, mostly empty from what she could see with a couple pills laying outside of it. Terror shot through her as she fell to her knees, her hands barely reaching out in time to catch her fall against the linoleum tiles below her.

"David?" She called out weakly, her voice going hoarse from fear as she hesitantly crawled forward toward her child. With each movement tears sprung to and fell from her eyes. Shakily she called out again. "H-honey? David, t-this isn't funny!"

"...David?" She was close enough now that she could reach out and touch her son, but she refrained from doing so out of fear of discovering something that she didn't want to acknowledge. "Davie? Honey, answer me! Tell me you can hear me!"

And suddenly she was upon him, shaking his prone body, with tears running freely down her face and eyes wide with emotion. "David! Please, answer me!" Sobs racked her body as she shook her son harder, his seemingly lifeless body moving easily with the motion. "Please David...please wake up!"

Hiccuping mixed itself with her cries as she fell onto her son, her arms wrapping themselves around his still-warm body. Her son was...her son was...

Before her mind could fill in the blank with her worst fear, a soft voice reached her ears.

"...Mom?"

Grace froze. No...it couldn't have been, could it...?

And then again:

"...Mom? It hurts..."

She pushed herself off her son with a gasp and rolled him onto his back. There looking up at her with half-lidded eyes, face twisted in pain, was her very much alive son. "David!" Her expression turned to one of worry as her son's words hit her. "What hurts, honey? What happened?"

David grunted in pain, his body curling in on itself as tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes. "It...h...urts...it wasn't sup...posed...to hurt..."

Her eyes widened further in panic. "What wasn't supposed to hurt? Davie, you're not making sense!"

"Ty...le...nol..." With that last word her son went limp once more as he faded back into unconsciousness.

"_David! Wake up!_" Her body trembled as she sat back on her haunches, mind racing. "What about the Tylenol? David! _David!"_

And then it hit her like a ton of bricks. The almost empty Tylenol bottle, her son laying unconscious – dead? No, she couldn't think that way – on the floor...

With a strangled cry she grabbed the phone that had been laying there forgotten and fought to push those three simple numbers that would save her son's life.

He would make it; he had to.

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**Author's Note:** So there's that. Updates _will_ be slow, _maybe_ once a week but more than likely longer, since I'm putting more effort into this story than any other that I've written, and 'coz I've not written anything like this (or anything at all, really XD) in a while. That's all ya need to know about updates, but if you're interested in the background of the story (in a nutshell), go ahead and continue reading this long A/N XD

So, as I said in my first A/N, it took be about 2 weeks to get to this point. Ever since Dave kissed Kurt – like everyone else XP – I've been thinking about just _what_ goes on in that head of his. Around that time I was also researching about drug overdose (acetaminophen, in this case) and how in-patients at psychiatric hospitals (or, at least, the psychiatric ward that most hospitals have) are treated compared to out-patients. And, well, sometime along the line these suicide fics started popping up and I started to think about Dave _attempting_ suicide but failing, and then my research and the idea kinda merged into...this. Surprisingly enough 2x08 actually helped my story rather than hindered it, which I found kinda funny XD

Just a couple more points before I shut up XP

1- I don't know if Dave and Kurt will get together in this fic. I am writing this story as a Dave self-acceptance/healing/redemption story, so Kurt's only marginally involved in like 75% of the story (hence why I didn't use a character tag for Kurt) XD This is going to be a _long_ one, so by the end they may be friends or something more, but as I said that's not the focus so I have no idea right now haha

2- Just to get this out of the way XP I don't ship Kurtofsky, but I don't _not_ ship Kurtofsky either. I do, but I don't. I'm gonna wait before putting all my eggs into one basket haha

And finally, please review! :)


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee, it's characters, or anything else involved in it. Nor do I claim to own any locations that will make an appearance later on in the story; at this point in time I only own Grace Karofsky and Dr. Wellington.

**A/N:** ...so I totally meant to get this out on Wednesday, but far too many things have been happening this past week and I'm still trying to catch up on everything that needs to be done before next week. But anyway, here's the next chapter, another that's told from Grace's POV. :)

Thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorited/story alerted! They make me happy to know people are reading this :)

_This story is unbeta'd._

_Edited for minor fixes 12/10/2010.  
_

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**Until the Sun Shines Again**

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_Chapter One_

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_There are times when fear is good. It must keep its watchful place at the heart's controls. ~Aeschylus_

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It's not until something drastic happens to their lives do people truly come to understand how much time was a tug-of-war between going by too slowly and speeding on without so much as a look back to see what was left behind. Grace learned this lesson all too well, more times than she ever wanted to remember.

The first time it happened hadn't even been a full year ago: she had gotten a late-night call one Saturday night from a number she hadn't even bothered to acknowledge, seeing as it was nearly 11 at night and she had to get up no later than 5 the next morning. The ringing of the phone had immediately woken her – she was such a light sleeper that sometimes her husband joked that her senses while asleep were better than any alarm system when something was wrong – and, to her surprise, it was her daughter on the other end.

Her daughter who was sobbing uncontrollably into the receiver while mumbling words Grace could only hope to decipher. It took lots of coaxing to get her to become coherent – by which time her husband Paul had woken up, a quizzical look adorned on his face – and when she did, a bombshell was dropped.

Her daughter, just recently turned 19 and still in her first year of college, was pregnant, and had decided against getting an abortion. The father apparently hadn't been as serious about her as she had been about him seeing as he had practically ran away from fatherhood like a dog with its tail between its legs while saying something about how he had only been with her because she had been hot, and naively easy to get into bed.

The retelling caused Grace to very nearly lose her cool – she _knew_ she shouldn't have let her daughter leave Lima, or even Ohio! – which she only was able to rein back in thanks to her husband's calming presence at her side as he shifted closer. After calming herself, it took until nearly 1:00 Sunday morning, two hours later, to calm her daughter's hysteria down enough to convince the girl that everything would be okay and would work out in the end, and that _yes_, sleeping _was_ possible if she tried.

That, however, was absolutely _nothing_ like the feeling of not knowing if her baby would live, or was even alive _right now_.

A choked sob slipped through pursed lips as she helplessly looked toward the doors in the emergency room that separated her so coldly from her son. When the paramedics had arrived, life seemed to pass by in a blur; if you were to have asked her what happened after she had called 911, she wouldn't be able to tell you anything- she couldn't tell you when they had arrived (5 minutes after she called), what they had said when they saw the scene before them (probable acute acetaminophen overdose, very dangerous), what they had asked her (how much did he take and when, or if she didn't know) or...anything.

All she remembered was getting into the ambulance, getting off at the hospital, and having to watch her son be wheeled away while she was steered in the opposite direction toward the waiting room where she currently sat apprehensively.

David had been in the operation room for nearly half an hour when Paul came rushing down the hallway to the seating area, his usual calm visage less calm and more worried.

"How- is he?"

Grace looked up at her umber one source of support, tears in her eyes, as he partially knelt before her. Momentarily they stared into one another's eyes, hands connected, before a strangled noise got caught in her throat. "I- I don't- no one's...no one's come out since he- went he in."

Paul ducked his head and brought their joined hands to his lips. Quietly he spoke. "David...will be fine. He's a strong boy who has a full life ahead of him. God won't take him so young. We have to believe that."

Grace nodded silently and bit back the first retort that had come to mind – that the Devil had his ways too, and, if he had gotten a hold of David somehow, could easily have been the cause of this and all of David's recent problems – and let out another sob. She looked hopelessly at her husband. "Why would he...why would David...o-overdose? He-"

"It must have been an accident. Accidental overdoses do happen, and are more common than intentional ones."

She hesitated a moment, and then gave up wanting to respond. She didn't want to believe it was intentional either (what parent would?) but David's words kept playing in her mind, leaving her with a bad feeling she couldn't shake off.

"_It...h...urts...it wasn't sup...posed...to hurt..."_

"_Ty...le...nol..."_

Paul wrapped an arm around her as she shuddered at the thought and melted into her husband's grip. The scent she came to only be able to describe as 'Paul' enveloped her senses and comforted her long enough to notice the form of a doctor, medical chart in hand, walking toward them briskly, a professionally neutral expression adorning his face. With a slight gasp she gently pushed her husband off her and stood. "Is he going to be alright?"

A mirthless smile flitted across his lips momentarily as he glanced down to read the name on the chart. "I take it you are David Karofsky's parents?"

Her husband answered him before she could even open her mouth to confirm it. "That's correct. How is David?"

"Well..." The doctor – Dr. Wellington, from what his I.D. said – cleared his throat then continued. "When he arrived he was unconscious and, according to an attendant, had faded in and out of consciousness at least once before reaching the operation room where I met him along with two other physicians. I would say because of the circumstantial evidence that was found, the bottle of Tylenol that was brand new, it is reasonable to conclude that your son, David, is suffering from an acute severe acetaminophen poisoning. I've been told that your son, during his bout of consciousness, also attested to doing so."

Grace swallowed hard, and found her voice to speak. "What – exactly – does that mean? I recall the paramedics who came for David say something like that but I..."

"Essentially what it means is that, rather than taking an overdose of acetaminophen over time, David took a single heavy overdose." Dr. Wellington returned his attention to the chart and flipped the page before grunting. "Aside from confirming that he overdosed only once, he also managed to inform us of when he took the overdose, and the prognosis doesn't look good."

Grace's vision swam before her as she breathed in harshly, tears leaving tracks down her face. What did _that _mean?

Thankfully her husband took up the conversation, since at that moment the only thing she was convinced would come out of her mouth would be sobs, but it wasn't like that wasn't already happening. "What do you mean by that?"

"Acetaminophen poisoning works in four stages- as the poisoning progresses through each stage it steadily worsens until the fourth stage, which is the deciding stage of whether the patient ultimately survives or not, assuming they make it that far. The worst stage in which most people fail to survive from if they don't receive proper treatment is the third stage, which is the one your son is in. To be in the third stage it means that he'd taken the overdose at least 72 and no more than 96 hours ago."

Silence surrounded the three of them as Grace and Paul processed that information, before Paul spoke again, a hesitancy that wasn't there before entering his voice. "This overdose...did David say anything about it being..."

The words apparently didn't want to come out as her husband let out a sound of frustration and just let the sentence hang over them. Dr. Wellington seemed to know what he wanted to say, and spoke just as hesitantly. "If he had taken only a few more pills than what is prescribed it could be considered accidental, but from the amount missing from the bottle that was brought in and the fact that it was a single overdose I would have to say...otherwise."

"How much...?"

"This specific bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol, 500 mg, should contain 24 caplets; only four remained in the bottle and nearby it. What that means is that David took the equivalent of 10 grams of acetaminophen at one time, when the maximum recommended to take in a 24-hour period is only 4."

Grace gasped as her legs gave out under her; her husband next to her quickly wrapped his arms around her to hold her up as his body shook in the very same thing that rushed through her: fear. This couldn't be happening; it had to be a nightmare. There was no other way this could be happening to her family...

Paul's voice was hoarse as he spoke again. "Does that...will he...will he be alright?"

Dr. Wellington looked the both of them in the eye before he spoke softly. "As I said, the third stage of acetaminophen overdose is the most dangerous, and the hardest to survive through. At this stage it is very likely for the patient to suffer from liver failure, and, even more worrying, renal – kidney – and other organs failure, which, in the end, may lead to death. I don't want to instill a sense of impossibility of survival in you, but I believe it's important to understand the situation fully. I suggest you to prepare for the worst, but wish for the best."

Grace was frozen in place; she couldn't even manage a nod as her husband could when the doctor turned with a curt tilt of his head in their direction as he returned to where he came from just as briskly as he had arrived. A sob tore out of her as she crumpled to the floor, her husband not even fighting the pull of her body as he went down with her. The feeling of Paul's strong body behind her, sobs racking his own as it did her's, only served to push her over the edge as she cried freely and loudly in the middle of the hallway.

Her son was dying and there wasn't a single thing she could do about it.

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**A/N:** I was gonna take it a little longer than that, but I figured it'd work being stopped there (which, by my count, makes it about 200 words shorter than the prologue XD oops). I also had to tone down the knowledge of acetaminophen overdose since I quite literally can go on forever about that, but that's hardly the point. :P In the next chapter the POV will switch to Paul, which means a – hopefully, if I can pull it off in the way that I like – slight change in how the POV is told since quite obviously Grace and Paul are different sort of thinkers haha

I have some other things to say about a couple immediate future updates, but I'll tell ya 'bout them next time. Chapter two should hopefully be coming out around Wednesday – unlike this one – so be on the lookout. ;)

Please review! Reviews keep me happy and keep me – a lazy good-for-nothing haha – motivated to write :)


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, it's characters, or anything else involved in it. Nor do I claim to own any locations that will make an appearance later on in the story; at this point in time I only own Grace Karofsky, Dr. Wellington, and...pretty much all the other doctors that make an appearance haha

_**Thank you everyone for all the reviews/alerts/favorites! They make me a very happy authoress. :D**_

**A/N: **Mmkay, so, in response to Hydelity:

The Extra Strength Tylenol caplets actually can come in bottles/vials/etc. of 8, 10 (vials only), 16, 24, 40, 50, 100, 150, 250, and 325. I chose 24 because, well...10 grams of acetaminophen is a nice even (and deadly) number xD

The overdose thing (from a medical perspective) will be addressed in this chapter actually, so I won't bother to explain that here haha I will tell Dave's side of things sometime later, though, just so you know =3

If there's any more questions/critiques/etc. that anyone has I'll be happy to address them to the best of my ability! :D

Now then, onto the fic! :D Paul broods a lot. Or, at least, he does so internally in my fic haha

_This fic is unbeta'd.  
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**Until the Sun Shines Again**

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_Chapter Two_

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_Few tragedies can be more extensive than the stunting of life, few injustices deeper than the denial of an opportunity to strive or even to hope, by a limit imposed from without, but falsely identified as lying within.  
~ Stephen Jay Gould_

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It's been precisely 9 hours, 42 minutes, and 32 (33, 34, 35...) seconds since Dr. Wellington had came and went with the latest information pertaining to his son's condition, and 6 hours, 28 minutes from that since his wife had cried herself into an uneasy slumber. He himself had slept but not for long (only a couple of hours), despite it having just turned 3:13 the morning after '_it_' had happened.

'_It_' being the reason why they were in the hospital in the first place; '_it_' being the event that shook their family's foundation to the core; '_it_' being their son's overdose on Tylenol, brought on by...

What, really, Paul wasn't sure of. There were far too many unknowns surrounding David's situation, unknowns that seemingly didn't have a place in sense and left far too many holes in the big picture. All that he knew, recounted to him by Grace when she had called to inform him of what had happened almost 10 hours ago, was that David had taken an overdose of Tylenol, and that, added on with information from Dr. Wellington, he had taken the overdose no more than four days ago. He knew the 'who', the 'what', (an educated guess of) the 'where', (roughly) the 'when', and the 'how' of the situation, but the 'why' – arguably the most pertinent point – remained a complete mystery; one that he couldn't solve on his own, or with his wife, or even with the doctor. The only one capable of shedding any amount of light onto the incident currently was unresponsive to the world with doctors hovering over him and doing their very best to correct the self-inflicted wrongs committed against the young man's body and self.

His hands clenched between his knees as he closed his eyes in an attempt to clear his mind and to calm himself as his thoughts steered to the part of the conversation with Dr. Wellington that he'd rather not have to acknowledge, but didn't have a choice in doing so: the overdose was an apparent suicide attempt, and not an accident as he had hoped (still hoped, to be perfectly honest, regardless of the few pieces of evidence to the contrary). It was not a definitive verdict of what had happened but it was close enough to being so, so close in fact that Paul, despite living through years of experiences and turmoils others could only dream of, couldn't even begin to understand even the slightest bit about it.

Why would David consider something as extreme as suicide? How did whatever David was going through end up so badly that he could no longer resort to talking to his parents or his sister about what was going on as he used to? It made very little sense and, when added on to the growing list of misbehavior and problems that had been following David around the last couple of months, did nothing to help Paul believe that he knew his youngest child anymore. Was David's behavior the last couple of months a direct link to his attempted suicide? Had his son been crying out for help and had been ignored, his behavior being written off as nothing more than a late-teenage rebellion? Was it _his_ fault for pushing David too hard to always be better, to always be on top?

He didn't know and, despite the feelings of fear for his son, loathing for himself, and worry for their family, wasn't about to jump to conclusions that had no factual basis; he was going to remain objective at least for now, until his son was in the clear and would live, or, alternatively...

Just as Paul was about to block the thought from his mind, someone to his side cleared their throat to catch his attention before a couple of bottles of orange juice were thrust into Paul's line of sight. Blinking slowly he took the proffered drinks and turned his head to look at who was there, and was greeted by a haggard looking Dr. Wellington, sans the chart he held before. His body tensed for the worst. "How is he? Is he alright?"

Dr. Wellington smiled politely at the worry evident in Paul's countenance then spoke, his voice a soft yet commanding whisper, mindful of the slumbering woman near them. "David should make a full recovery, so long as the acetaminophen levels in his body continue to drop as they are."

Paul let out a sigh of relief, his hands tightening around the bottles of orange juice. "What happened? Last time we talked you said something about possible failure of multiple organs, and a probable death as a result of that."

"Because of how late he got to us, we chose forgo the usual treatments that are done with activated charcoal and NAC, _N_-acetylcysteine, and instead chose to do treatment by means of liver dialysis. The dialysis was run for seven and a half hours while we assessed his physical state and constantly monitored him for any possible signs of organ failure. As of right now he is in the clear and is due for another liver dialysis in-" Dr. Wellington glanced down at his watch before continuing speaking, "-approximately 17 hours if there remains any acetaminophen in him, and will continue to repeat the procedure every 24 hours until there isn't any left. We came out earlier to inform you of his condition, but at the time you and your wife were asleep and we didn't want to disturb you; any sort of sleep is always needed if you can get it when a family member or someone close ends up in the emergency room."

Paul 'hmm'ed softly in acknowledgment as a question nagged at him. "There is something I've been wondering about...you've said that David arrived 'late' in the overdose time line, and, as a result of that, things which thankfully didn't happen _could_ have happened, and that you even had to alter your treatment for it. How is it possible, then, that he was able to go on this long without anyone having taken notice of it?"

"Acetaminophen poisoning is one of those problems that doesn't necessarily present itself at the onset. While there are indeed symptoms _of_ the overdose, there is nothing that necessitates a person to having _any_ symptoms at any point in time after the overdose. It is _very_ common for patients to come in having no signs of an overdose hours after accidentally – or purposefully, as the case may be – taking it; it's also not unheard of to not have any symptoms 24 hours later or even at all, depending on how much of an overdose was taken. There are also cases of people who have had certain non-specific symptoms, like vomiting or diarrhea, that eventually taper off that they mistake for a simple illness because no other symptoms developed as time passed. In David's case I would have to guess that any symptoms he had didn't develop until the poisoning progressed far enough that it began to really affect his liver, which presented itself in the form of the pain that was reported to me by your wife. A step beyond that would've been liver failure, which thankfully hadn't happened since that would've brought on a whole slew of problems."

Paul swallowed hard and nodded in understanding as relief flooded through him. They were lucky, then, that Grace had found David when she had. "Is David awake?"

"David is still unconscious, but he's been moved to the ICU. It is still too early in the morning for visitations, but I can let you in to see him for a few minutes if you wish."

Paul nodded again and turned to his wife, who had ended up sprawled on her side across the line of connected chairs right next to him. Gently he shook her shoulder and spoke softly to coax her out of sleeping. He continued the motion until she awoke, eyes blinking blearily against the harsh light of the waiting room and a quiet yawn slipping passed parted lips. It was only until he managed to lock eyes with her did he clear his throat through the lump that sudden had caught there. "Grace...David's going to be fine. He's not awake, but he's in the ICU. Dr. Wellington gave us permission to visit him outside visitation hours, even though it will only be just enough time to see him."

Almost immediately Grace sat up, eyes wide and filling with tears as she turned her attention to the doctor. "Really? My baby's really going to be alright?"

Dr. Wellington nodded, smile still in place as he gestured down the hall. "It really will be for only a couple of minutes, but if you'd like to, follow me..."

Hurriedly his wife pulled him and herself up off the chairs as Dr. Wellington started on down the hallway silently, their footfalls echoing in the quiet as they shuffled after him. It was mere minutes later when they reached the double doors that led to the ICU and passed through them, their breaths caught in their throat as the anticipation to see David grew with every step. Soon enough they passed by bed after bed, charts hanging from chart holders at the foot of them declaring which patient was who, until they reached the farthest one down the line and stopped in front of it.

David was by no means a small boy, but at that moment he seemed to be far frailer than that Kurt boy Paul remembered from when he had been called to the school by David's principal because of that death threat. The teenager's normally slightly rotund and filled face was pale beyond comparison, his cheeks sunken in and taking a turn toward unhealthy. His body from what he could see, now that Paul was actually able to _see _his son longer than what it took to eat dinner (which was the longest time frame they spent together nowadays), lacked the muscle growth he had gained from when he had been a part of the football team; he was still a far cry from being truly weak in appearance (he still participated in hockey after all), but a notable difference _was_ there that Paul couldn't believe he hadn't noticed before. With his son like this, lying in bed unconscious, it only revealed just how much David was hiding behind his tough persona, just how exhausted the boy truly had been and how his body – albeit slowly – was breaking down under the strain of whatever it was that was weighing him down.

Apparently the problems took out David's mind a lot quicker than his body.

Silently Paul moved the bottles of orange juice to one hand and rested the other on his wife's shoulder as she began sobbing at the sight of their son's unresponsive body, IV drips connected to the veins in his arms and, for all intents and purposes, appearing to be dead to the world. The vital signs monitor to the side of the bed let out a soft beep every second as it spat out the information it received from the various wires and things that were attached to multiple parts of David's body, a sound that blended in with the other soft beeps from all the other monitors in the room.

Paul watched quietly as his wife hesitantly moved to their son's side and gently squeezed the boy's hand, tears streaming down her face and falling onto the stark white blanket covering the lower half of David's body. She remained in position a few moments longer as she whispered something Paul couldn't quite make out to David before she released his hand and took an unsteady step away from the bed.

Paul for his part stayed at the foot of the bed and rested the orange juice bottles in his hands against the railing there as his body shook with suppressed sobs. Closing his eyes he sent a silent prayer to God wishing his son's full recovery and for Him to watch over David before Paul took a step back and detached himself from the bed. Grace already had made her way to his side and was nodding to Dr. Wellington that they were done visiting David for now, since they knew, what with him being a doctor and all, that he was probably too busy to supervise their temporary visit to the ICU.

It was with heavy steps and an even heavier heart did they leave the ICU, their thoughts (why did David do it? Was is their fault? Were they bad parents?) guilt-tripping them every step of the way.

* * *

The next time they visited David, nearly 6 hours later, there were no obvious differences to his condition, nor had he woken up prior to or during their hour-long stay with him, a fact that had both Paul and his wife worried up until a nurse informed them that that was due more than likely to the fact that David's body was exhausted and needed time to recover. Exhausted from what Paul nor his wife had any idea, but it certainly was far from the first thing to happen within the past 24 hours that neither of them understood.

What they did understand, however, was that David wasn't likely to wake up any time soon (at least not within the hour) so they had plenty of time to get a much-needed meal from the hospital cafe to give them energy as they waited.

The walk to the cafe was a long and quiet one, which was unusual considering that Grace was normally the chatterbox in the family (a trait that passed onto their daughter, much to Paul's chagrin). Even so, the silence between them was not uncomfortable but instead was more of the companionable nature; it also helped that Paul's arm at the current moment didn't belong to him but to his wife, seeing as she had latched herself onto it from the moment they left David's side the second time until now as they turned around the corner in the corridor and spotted the sign that declared that the "High Street Cafe" was just ahead.

After walking for another couple of minutes the entrance to the cafe appeared before them beyond a couple of double doors, which they walked through and quickly made their way around the cafe gathering what they wanted. Before either knew it, they had paid for their meals and were sitting in one of the booths in the dining area, eating in silence; it didn't last long.

"Paul...what should we do about David? I don't- I don't think this...thing...was an...accident, you know? E-even Dr. Wellington suspects that it was on..." The final word caught in Grace's throat and wouldn't come out as tears began welling up at the corners of her eyes.

That had been happening a lot over the past day. Paul sighed quietly and reached over to cup his wife's cheek in his hand as he ran his thumb just under where the salty tears were forming. "At this point in time all we have is speculation about what happened. Admittedly all the signs that we have point in that direction, but until David awakens and confirms anything, I think we have a right to hope." His features softened as his voice lowered to a whisper. "Either way David is our son and as such he needs our support and our love. Anything else can be decided upon when the time comes."

Grace nodded as an almost silent, indistinguishable noise slipped passed her lips. Slowly she brought up a hand to cover his and closed her eyes as she leaned into his touch.

They sat that way for an indeterminable about of time, the world blocked out beyond them, but before long his wife sighed and pulled his hand away from her face, while at the same time interlacing their fingers. Hesitantly she spoke, her eyes downcast to land on her abandoned breakfast. "I wish...we could start this week again, back to before David took the Tylenol. Maybe then we would've seen something that hinted that this was going to happen, even just a little bit..."

Paul sighed again and nodded in agreement, although a part of him was skeptical that they would've seen anything. If they hadn't the first time around, how would they even with knowledge of what was to come?

* * *

It was on their way back to the ICU, 45 minutes later, that they ran into the nurse that had been attending to David the second time they went to visit their son. The smile on her face immediately brightened their moods, even if it was only marginally.

"I was just going down to the cafe to fetch you two! David woke up a couple of minutes ago and asked for you; I figured I'd come and get you myself rather than having you called through the intercom."

A shock ran through Paul as they paused in their stride as the first smile in hours mutually appeared on both his and Grace's faces. Their son was awake. Their son would be alright; whatever was to come could be dealt with, but for now...

For now there couldn't have been better news.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that chapter certain was quite a bit longer than the last two :D Tell me whatch'y'all think, mmkay? Reviews are very loved!

**VERY IMPORTANT NOTE (I.E. READ THIS, IF NOTHING ELSE).**

I have _no idea_ when the next update will be. I will be leaving tomorrow (Saturday, December 11th) to visit family before my surgery on Tuesday (I'm having a tumor removed from someplace in my head, for those who're curious :3). As a result of that surgery I will be hospitalized for roughly a week, and then will pretty much be banned from using my computer for like a week after that, depending on if my mom feels like being nice or not (she's the one who declared that she's going to steal my laptop away from me after all haha). SO. What that means is, I probably won't be able to update again until around Christmas/New Years so I apologize for that. Whenever it _does_ come, though, it will be another Paul chapter, followed (finally) by Dave's debut! :D

I hope everyone has a happy holiday! :3


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, it's characters, or anything else involved in it. Nor do I claim to own any locations that will make an appearance later on in the story; at this point in time I only own Grace Karofsky, Dr. Wellington, and...pretty much all the other characters that are unrecognizable haha

**Obligatory Second Disclaimer:** I am in no way, shape, or form a professional psychiatrist/psychologist. The most I have ever actually studied by means of the subject are the couple of classes I took in high school and the one intro class I took in college. I have done a lot of research on the topic in my own time specifically for this fic, but seeing as I don't know everything there is to know about what this fic covers, there more than likely _will_ be some things that aren't necessarily correct. Everything's pretty much built on _my research_ and _personal experience_, so I'd probably advise you to take some things with a pinch of salt. :)

Thanks for all the reviews and well wishes for my surgery and whatnot! It took quite a bit to get back into the writing groove (or...rather, the anything-but-severe-migraine groove) after my surgery, but I somehow managed to get this thing out. :) I usually try and keep my chapters no longer than 2000 words for easy reading, but this chapter is much longer than that XD so long chapter is long, and is one that I don't like very much (maybe because of all the time skips in the later half? XD) so I will eventually be re-writing this one xD

_This fic is unbeta'd._

Enjoy, and Happy (belated) New Year~! :D

* * *

**Until the Sun Shines Again**

...

_Chapter Three_

...

_'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, but to support them after.  
~ William Shakespeare_

_

* * *

_

'Awake' was _not_ the operative word for David's status, as Paul and Grace soon found out.

Granted, he _was_ awake, his eyes were open and he was looking straight ahead, but 'awake' did not equal 'responsive' or 'alert'. If he had been 'awake' he would've responded with more than a blink as they arrived to see him, would've been more..._anything_, really, when they'd sidled up to his side, tears pricking the corners of their eyes. The complete lack of reaction to their presence made it a little hard to believe that their son had been the one to call for them, and not the nurse.

Silently Paul turned toward the nurse, brows pulled taut with worry. "Is he...alright?"

The nurse smiled politely, unperturbed by the situation. "He is fine, but it might take him a little bit to get used to being awake. His body is still partially poisoned and is trying to recover from the overdose so he may be a little slow in reacting." She paused and suddenly looked hesitant before her voice lowered. "He may also be trying to deal with the...mental and emotional ramifications of realizing what he...did."

Paul made a quiet noise in understanding as the nurse continued to speak, this time at a much quieter level. "For this specific unit we normally have 5 nurses on duty for the 12 patients here, but because of your son's probable suicide attempt – he hasn't said anything about it either way, but he's only been awake for a couple minutes before I left to bring you here – there are now 8. I'm the head nurse on duty of this unit, while all the others are on rotational watch; it's their job to make sure that one of them checks up on him every 5-10 minutes, both while I am here and not." She gestured toward a little room (cubicle, more like) with a large window-view of the ICU that was situated just feet away from the end of the opposite row of beds. "That's where I stay for most of my shift, except for when I'm called away or when it's time to do a routine check on one of the patients in this unit. Now that your son is awake he will be monitored both by machine and by somebody the entire time he's here since he's been noted as a possible repeat danger to himself."

Paul nodded in understanding as he turned to gauge his wife's reaction (she had joined him at his side about halfway through the nurse's explanation) and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He knew Grace had come to the same conclusion he had by the look on her face: there was no real hope in trying to deny that David's incident was a suicide attempt, even more so because the hospital staff was treating it as if it had been so. Otherwise there wouldn't have been a need for all the extra caution.

Before anyone could respond, a raspy voice spoke from behind them, causing all three to swivel their bodies in the direction it came from. "M-mom? Dad?"

Immediately Grace and Paul were back at their son's side. "Davie honey!" Grace wrapped her arms around her son's head and gently pulled him to her chest as tears fell. "Don't you _ever_ scare us like that again, do you hear me!"

"I'm sorry..."

Paul cleared his throat awkwardly and attempted to meet eyes with his son but to no avail; his son's eyes were closed. "It's..." not okay, something that shouldn't have happened, "...it'll be alright, David. You're here now, and we're here with you; everything will be alright."

David didn't respond, not even when Grace pulled away and held his face in her hands, hope radiating in her eyes. An awkward silence blanketed them suddenly as David purposely looked away from both of his parents and instead chose to stare blankly out of the corner of his eye at the opposite wall. A chill slithered its way down Paul's spine as Grace spoke. "It _will_ be alright...right, Davie? You're not...you didn't mean to, right? It was all an accident, right? You're not..."

"Grace, don't heckle the boy. He just woke up." Paul spoke as firmly as he was able to, and was at least marginally glad that his voice didn't give way to the emotions circling inside. "We have time to talk about what happened; I don't think now is very appropriate."

"Then when _will_ be appropriate? Everyone's treating David like he attempted _suicide_, Paul, even us! There won't _be_ an appropriate time to ask about it! As time passes all that's going to end up happening is a lot of _not _talking, when talking is what needs to be done!"

Paul pulled away slightly, taken aback by the sudden heat in his wife's voice. Sighing, he turned his attention David, who had managed to break free from his mother's hold during her spiel, and fought to identify the look in the boy's eyes. "David...I believe we should wait to talk about this, but your mother's right. It's not only important for us to know what happened, but also for the people here: they can help you, but only if they know what's wrong, if anything." Paul paused and sucked in a harsh breath before the dreaded question began to slip out. "David, did you-"

"I'm tired. Can you leave?"

Paul beat down his initial reaction to being interrupted, and scrutinized the look in his son's eyes that he still was unable to identify. The first thought that came to mind was that David's eyes looked dead, despite him being alive, and dull, like the color and life had been sucked out of them.

It...hurt, to see his son so obviously _not_ alright, so much so that he couldn't even think of defying the boy's wishes.

"Very well." He replied quietly and gently grasped his wife by the elbow to steer her away, sent her a warning look when she made a move to protest, and then turned his eyes back to David. "Rest; we'll go home and get cleaned up, but when we return we're going to talk about this. It's not something you can avoid, David. I think we've let you get away with far too much lately."

David didn't respond, and instead rested his head back on the pillows and closed his eyes, effectively dismissing them from his bedside. Reluctantly Paul sent his son a forced smile that the boy couldn't see and pulled his indignant wife away from the bed, nodded at the nurse, and continued on his way out of the ICU, despite Grace's claims that she wouldn't ask, that they'd only been there for like 5 minutes, that they _had_ to be there since David was underage...

All this Paul pushed behind him as they pushed through the doors leading to the ICU, which seemed far heavier than they had been when they'd gone in just moments before.

* * *

When they arrived home, Grace wasn't talking to him.

He understood his wife's point-of-view, and was inclined to agree with her to some level, but David...David was in the _hospital_ for attempting _suicide_. That fact alone made it far easier to listen to their only son over his wife, even though he despised favoritism.

Which was why he opted to jump into the shower first thing after arriving, rather than having to deal with his wife's glower following him everywhere.

He hadn't been in there very long (10, 15 minutes at best) when a warning knock came to the door before it swung open and Grace's soft voice filtered through the raging water. "Paul? When you...get out...I- I have something to show you. I f...found something- in Davie's room."

Paul found Grace's stilted and broken way of speaking to be odd, and paused as he fought to see his wife through the dark shower curtain. "Alright Grace, give me about 5 minutes. I'll be out then."

After that Paul hurriedly finished his shower and stepped out, gave himself only enough time to get the majority of his body dried and dressed, and then made his way out of the bathroom. Just as he was going to head down the hall toward his and Grace's shared room he paused and instead turned toward David's room, where, he noticed, Grace was staring unmoving down at something in the depths of David's desk drawer.

Slowly he entered the room, hair dripping water in streams down his neck, and spoke softly once he stood behind his wife. "What is it, Grace? What did you find?"

Grace didn't respond, didn't even move from her spot at David's desk. Apprehensively he stepped closer to the open drawer and looked inside (some crumpled paper and what looked like a notebook below them), before confusedly looking back at his wife. "What is it?"

"Open them." Grace spoke softly, a note of fear and what sounded like dread and hopelessness in her tone.

Hesitantly Paul reached out and plucked one of the loosely balled up wads of paper out of the drawer and held it in his hand for a few moments before he smoothed it out, and found that he couldn't go any further. He didn't want to read whatever it said; he didn't want to know what his wife now knew, didn't want to know because knowing only served to solidify things he didn't _want_ solidified.

But his wife stood there, expectant of him to join her in her newly found enlightenment, and he knew he couldn't _not_ read it and leave her to know on her own. They were together, through the good and the bad; through everything. With a sigh meant to calm himself, Paul looked down at the paper he held, took in the splotches (tear stains?) left on it and the smears caused by them, and braced himself as he read the few words that were written there in sloppy script:

_Im sorry._

_I fucked up._

_At least you wont have to deal with how much of a fuckup I am anymore._

When he finished reading it, his hands shook with fear and denial. Grace didn't give him any time to ponder the words before another smoothed-out-but-still-slightly-crumpled page was held out to him, which he took and read just as reluctantly as before.

_Im sorry hudson. Im sorry puckerman, black chick _(scratched out and replaced with 'mercedes')_, santana, brittany, quinn, mike, asian chick _(scratched out again, replaced with 'tina')_, abs _(sam)_, cripple _(artie), _loud bitch_ (berry)_...Im sorry I was an ass. Im sorry I made fun of your glee thing. Im sorry I slushied you, dumpster tossed you _fuck _Im sorry for all the shit I put your group thru just because Im a fucking _coward_ who cant do anything nice to someone worth _shit. _I never hated any of you tho you all probably hate me. Dont worry tho I wont be around to do that shit to you guys anymore._

At the very bottom of the page it looked like another message had been started, but didn't get much beyond "_Az, I_" followed by a giant black scratched out block, presumably to cover whatever was written underneath.

A third and final page was also there (addressed to 'Kurt Hummel', the boy who, Paul remembered, had gotten David expelled for that short while) but there was so much blacked out that the remaining words made little sense, aside from the last two sentences:

_I didnt deserve it but thanks for not telling._

_Im so fucking sorry._

After confirming that there weren't any more (suicide) notes (letters?) in the drawer, Paul and Grace stood frozen in place, unsure exactly of how to process the information they had just found. Time ticked by in silence before Paul spoke softly, surprised that he could even get a single word out, let alone a sentence with actual sense to it.

"I'll talk to Geoff- he'll know what to do."

* * *

A couple hours later found Paul and Grace back at the hospital, showered and a clean change of clothes on, hearts heavier than they had been before (which neither had thought to even be possible). The two of them parted fairly quickly – Grace to return to David's side, and Paul to hunt down the behavioral services department – with the promise to meet up again in an hour, more than likely back at David's ICU unit.

The trip to the behavioral services department was fairly quick once Paul discovered where it was, and before he knew what was happening he had arrived at the welcome window to the psychiatric ward and was asking if Dr. Geoff Baker was in, and if so, if he was available for consultation.

"He's currently in a session with a patient, but he shouldn't be more than another 10 minutes. Would you like to wait in the conference room for him?"

"If possible; I would very much appreciate it."

The woman behind the desk nodded in understanding before directed him down the hall toward a couple of large doors almost entirely made of clear acrylic where a couple of security guards stood. When he reached the doors he was instructed to remove any and all strings (his tie included), all metal and pointy objects, and anything else that could be potentially hazardous to anyone inside the ward were they to get their hands on it (standard procedure, of course) and, once done with that, was ushered to the conference room where he would meet with Geoff in. A different woman from before was already in the room to greet him, a friendly smile on her petite face.

"Hello! My name is Morgan Peterson, and I'm Dr. Baker's assistant here in the behavioral services department. How can we help you today?"

Paul cleared his throat awkwardly, suddenly unsure about his decision to talk to Geoff. Well, no, not talk to Geoff; Geoff was a family friend who held his complete trust and would understand, but telling else about his son's problems was a different thing entirely, regardless of the fact that she wouldn't judge and that it was her job to be understanding of his situation. "It's about my...son."

Morgan didn't seem put-off by his lack of elaboration, and only continued to smile politely as she gestured for him to sit. "What about your son?"

"We – my wife and I – are concerned that he's...suicidal."

The look on Morgan's face quickly changed to one of minute sympathy that Paul couldn't find any trace of falseness in. "What is it about your son that made you come to such a conclusion?"

"Well, he's in the ICU right now for...overdose, and when my wife and I returned home earlier today we found _these_ in his desk drawer." Paul took out the now-folded pieces of paper that David had written on and set them on the table. "We're concerned that he may still be having these thoughts and that he may try again once he's out."

"A valid concern." Morgan nodded but didn't move to touch the papers between the two of them; she was probably saving those for Geoff to read and, just as she opened her mouth once more to talk, the man himself stepped into the room after a knock on the door that Paul hadn't actually noticed had been closed. Morgan smiled. "Ah, Dr. Baker. We were just talking about his son, who he and his wife are worried about."

Geoff turned from his assistant to Paul, worry lines appearing in his face. "What about David?"

"Grace and I think he's...suicidal, Geoff. He's already attempted it once by overdose – he's in the ICU right now, actually – and we're worried that he'll...try again."

After Paul spoke, Morgan rested a hand near the notes that Paul had set on the table and pushed them in Geoff's direction. "These are things their son wrote that worried them and contributed to their wanting to seek help for him. I haven't read them myself, so I don't know what's in them."

Geoff nodded and picked the small pile up and unfolded each note one-by-one and read them silently to himself. When he finished, he turned his attention back to Morgan, muttered something that Paul couldn't quite make out, and then sat across from him, visage suddenly stoney but empathetic as Morgan left the room quietly. "Have you noticed any changes in your son over the past couple of weeks at least? Such as being quieter than normal and seemingly withdrawn, a change in appetite, an increase in irritability, or a drop in school performance?"

Paul's throat constricted as he forced himself to speak. "He's been more confrontational and argumentative lately, and his grades have suffered a lot within the past couple of months. I don't know the full story – David refuses to tell me it – but he'd apparently been bullying a kid at school that ended up getting him expelled for a short time. He's also been kicked off the football team for his behavior." Paul paused as Morgan came back into the room, a notepad and pen with her, and continued on as Geoff began writing on it. "What do you think, Geoff? Would...could you see that he would end up attempting suicide from all that? Was it something that was obvious that we just ended up missing?"

Geoff continued writing silently for a few moments before he spoke up, his pen still working away at the paper. "Without doing an evaluation on David himself I can't say with _complete_ certainty that the suicide attempt was a result of what you listed out for me, but to me what it sounds like is a downward spiral into depression; how far into depression he is, however, I can't tell you without, again, doing an evaluation of him, but even so his suicide attempt is worrying."

Paul whetted his lips as he thought about what Geoff told him before speaking. "From my understanding of depression, I don't see how there's a connection with David's behavior beyond the grades dropping and some mood changes. Or is it different for children?"

"Many children and adolescences don't necessarily express their depression through sadness; instead they express it through anger or acting out, since, in many cases, that's the only way they know how." Geoff finished writing and set the pen down as he looked Paul in the eye. "I would like to talk to him and your wife as well, if possible, as well as continuing our talk. It's important that I get a full view of David's condition from everyone immediately around him to gain a better understanding of the situation, but right now time is very limited since I have another session in half an hour that I have to get ready for."

Paul nodded in understanding. "Grace is with David right now, who, as I said, is in the ICU. I don't know when he'll be released so I can't give you an exact time that you can talk to him, but Grace should be available to you when you need her."

"I can arrange something with the nurses and his physician to see when they think it'll be appropriate for me to have a talk with David, and then I can run that by you and your wife. I have a few more sessions today with patients after my next one, but I'll be free from 4 to 5:30 later this afternoon if that works for you and her."

"I believe that should work." Paul agreed and stood, his hand coming up to shake Geoff's. "I thank you for this."

Geoff took his hand, and shrugged off Paul's thanks. "I watched David grow up, Paul. I care for him as much as you do, and I understand how painful this is for you and Grace to go through. Don't worry- he'll be fine; he has loving parents which is something he will greatly need to come over this depression of his."

* * *

After that time passed by in a blur: he had gone back to David's place in the ICU and informed Grace of what Geoff had said and requested, and, before he knew it, the time to go to their appointment with the psychiatrist came and went. The two of them had sat down for dinner at their home before it really hit them.

"Paul, honey, are we really going to...do this? I know David needs to see somebody, but what if...what if they decide he can't come back home with us, that he needs to stay with them because something's seriously wrong with him? I don't think I can handle that!"

Paul reached across the table to grasp his wife's hand. "Whatever they decide David needs, we need to be supportive of; they're the experts, so they know what's best for David's condition."

Grace glared at him. "But he's our _son_! Shouldn't _we_ as parents know what's best for him?" Her glare lessened as Paul only stared at her calmly, fork in his other hand. Defeated, she sighed. "It's just...hard to think that our son needs someone else more than us."

Paul squeezed her hand lightly, his voice stern. "No. While it is true that David needs these people's help to get better, he needs _us_ more. He needs us to support him and love him, no matter what happens to him. Otherwise, what kind of motivation would he have to get better without anyone there for him in the end?"

His reply earned him a smile in return, which, he learned, was something he would never take for granted.

* * *

The following morning they arrived at the hospital near noon, their bodies, minds, and emotions too spent to have been able to arrive any earlier. Just before they stepped foot into the ICU unit that they'd become so familiar with the past couple of days they were stopped by a young man who informed them that he was the unit's head nurse in charge at the time.

"David went through his second round of dialysis last night, and, when we checked afterward, it looks like all traces of acetaminophen in his body are now gone. We would like to keep him for at least another six hours to monitor him, but Dr. Wellington thinks that he should be fine to leave after that."

Paul and Grace shared a glance. "Would it be at all possible for him to stay the night here in the hospital? We...we're planning on having him see a psychiatrist here but I don't think we could schedule in an appointment for him today." Grace paused; her voice was shaky when she started talking again. "We don't...we're...worried that he might...try something again if we take him home."

The nurse nodded in understanding. "I'm sure we can work something out; he'll more than likely be moved to the general floor since, medically speaking, he's no longer in the danger zone. I'll talk to Dr. Wellington and see if we can have that arranged for you."

"Thank you." Paul and Grace smiled in gratitude as the nurse smiled back and excused himself, and then they continued their way in to see David. When they arrived at his bedside he was asleep, the TV remote hanging loosely out of one hand while the other rested gently across his stomach. He looked...well, maybe not _better_ necessarily since the first time they had seen him in the ICU, but looking at him was a fair bit easier now that they were no longer in the dark about what was going on (at least, they knew what he had done and what was still going on inside more than likely) and were in the middle of developing a plan of action to take that would make everything better and that would bring their old son back to them.

* * *

Apparently just because you have a plan of action and _knew _what possibilities lay ahead doesn't mean that you're necessarily prepared for them.

"So..." Paul started slowly, not quite having registered what Geoff told them. "What you're saying is that it is pertinent at the moment for David to be admitted to the psychiatric ward on suicide watch because he is at high risk of attempting another suicide, and that you believe that inpatient care would be the most beneficial to him?"

"That is correct. He will be staying here during his time on suicide watch and, if you so choose, he can also stay here for his inpatient care. I can also give you information on various psychiatric hospitals that are within a few hours drive of the area that we can transfer him to that might end up being better for him. In the end its you and your son's choice of what he does, but I don't recommend _not_ getting him therapy of some sort, especially when he's in this state."

Paul grunted in understanding and rubbed his thumb over his wife's hand, which she had wound into his while Geoff talked. "I would like the names of these places. Before that though, which would you recommend for David?"

"Well, there's quite a few out there that I believe would be quite beneficial for David, but I think that one that offers multiple stay types – primarily that include residential treatment, which is good for transitioning back into every day life – would be good for David." Geoff opened his desk and pulled out a few pamphlets and held them out for Paul to take. "These are some of the places that I would recommend most for people suffering from major depression. Take a look over them when you have some time and give them a call if any of them interest you."

Paul glanced down at the top pamphlet – some place called the 'Lindner Center of HOPE' – as he took them from Geoff and nodded in thanks. "We will, thank you."

He would gladly send his son to any of them if they managed to return David back to the son he knew and loved.

Unbeknownst to him, a couple days later, when David is taken off suicide watch and is released to them with strict instruction to have at least one of them with him at all times while making the trip, he would be doing just that.

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**A/N: **Whewie and that's the end of chapter 3! :D

Dave's POV is next, and we get to see the result of him having been on suicide watch in a psychiatric ward and just how his depression has affected him now that he has nothing (well, nothing in terms of the depression XD) to hide anymore! We also get to see the introduction of where he's staying, which is an actual place. Which I don't own. Yay. :D

Reviews are very lovely! They can even just be little things of anticipation for Dave – finally! – making an actual appearance if you so want xD The next update should come a _lot_ quicker than this one did, since there's nothing in my way – like hospitalization and being medicated all the time **cough** – to keep me from writing! :DD


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, DC, Nike, or anything associated with them, I'm not a psychologist/psychiatrist and don't claim to be, and I only own Grace and all the other unrecognizable characters. :D

**A/N:** Thank you everyone for all the reviews and whatnot! As promised, here's the start of Dave's POV! :D

…I don't like this chapter much either (meaning I'll redo it when I feel like it) xD Dave's behavior in this chapter is kinda based off of me…to an extent haha Random little factoid.

Enjoy! :D

_This fic is unbeta'd._

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**Until the Sun Shines Again**

...

_Cha__pter Four_

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"_To get through the hardest journey, we need to take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping."_

_~ Chinese Proverb_

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_

A week's worth of pants.

An equal amount of shirts (graphic-less, plain polos), socks, and boxers.

Two pairs of sweats: one grey, the other black- both unremarkable and elastic, not stringed.

Two pairs of shoes: one his casual black DCs and the other his favorite pair of Nikes.

One Letterman jacket.

One hoodie (also string less).

His PSP and headphones, as well as a few extra games.

His cell phone.

When he thinks about it lain out like that, it doesn't seem any different than leaving for vacation someplace for no more than a week. Except on vacation he'd be allowed to have his wallet, would been able to wear whatever kind of shirt he wanted, and wouldn't have to think about the fact that _nothing_ beyond his Nikes had strings on them, which, under 'normal' circumstances, was a _very_ odd thing to take note of, but to him it was the thing that stuck out the most.

Hell, even his luggage bag had no straps on it, and instead was one of those rolling ones that only lazy, weak people who were too pathetic to _carry_ their damn bags used (or they were old or some kid, but hey, those were exceptions).

So no, despite what it may look like, this situation was _not_ a normal one. He _wasn't_ going on vacation (why the hell would he, when fucking _Christmas_ was in less than a freakin' _week_?) and, considering where he _was_ going, focusing on the lack of strings was quite possibly the _sanest_ thing he could've done.

If you couldn't tell, he wasn't exactly _thrilled_ at having to go to the Lin- whatever-it-was-called that his parents had eventually decided he was going to, but being annoyed at it took too much energy to do and he'd already spent enough of _that_ packing his shit the way his mom wanted it to be done. At the current moment he was sitting on his bed next to his open luggage bag, all his clothes already inside in nice piles that Dave knew weren't going to last long, while his mom looked over some paper (something about restricted items she had said) with his dad.

"Should he take his laptop as well? It says here that he'd only be able to use it at the staff's discretion, which- oh, that seems to go for his PSP as well. What about his cell phone? What does it say about...hm. So he can have it, but not to use beyond to look up contacts. What's the point in having it, then?"

Dave could tell his mom was nervous (she got ramble-y when something was bothering her) and laid back onto his bed, not bothering to complain about his mom's behavior as he normally would. Slowly he breathed out and closed his eyes and let the world slip away from him and let the familiar feeling of numbness fill him, until he could feel nothing else. Somewhere beyond the numb he could hear his dad reply.

"The man I spoke to on the phone said that computers are available there, so I don't think he needs his laptop with him. And does he really need his PSP? If he wants entertainment, taking his iPod instead should suffice."

"But isn't the whole point of him being allowed to bring things is so that he's _comfortable_ there? I doubt he'd be very comfortable without his video games! Besides, his PSP can play music too, right Davie?"

Dave nodded as he heard his name being called, but didn't really register what his mom had said to him; which was fine, apparently, since his mom continued on talking like he hadn't done anything to acknowledge that he'd heard her. Maybe it'd've been alright if he hadn't responded at all? Sure as hell felt like it.

"Anyway, he's taking his PSP and his cell phone, just in case. What else do you think he'll need while there?"

"Grace, honey, really…I think what they provide for him should be enough. I really don't think he needs much more than that."

Dave could feel the annoyance coming off his mom, and fought for control of the numb as his internal quiet began to crumble in response. "Oh really? Then what would be the point of them having made a list of things that were even just a little bit allowed if they already had everything that their patients might need? If that were the case they could just go ahead and ban everything!"

"Just because some things are allowed to be brought doesn't necessarily mean that he _needs_ them! He's there to get better, not to go on vacation! And besides, I just said that he doesn't need his PSP, I didn't say that he didn't need to bring any of his other things as well!"

As his parents' stupid little argument grew, his control over the numb shrunk. Almost embarrassingly quickly his control snapped and he shot up from the bed, eyes narrowed and fists clenched tightly at his sides. "Will both of you just shut the fuck up! It doesn't fucking matter _what_ I take 'coz I'm probably not gonna be able to use it anyway! Why the hell would they let me, when I'm going to be stuck with a bunch of crazy fucks?"

With that Dave's feet steered him out of his room and into the hallway, and then halfway down the stairs before his mom's voice followed him. "Oh, honey! Don't be like that! They're-"

Frankly, Dave didn't care what 'they' thought (whoever the hell 'they' were in the first place), and drowned his mom's voice out by stomping down the rest of the stairs until he reached the bottom. His shoes made quiet noises as he tromped to the couch and threw himself across it, entirely intent on passing out (which was what he had wanted to do before his parents decided that packing was more important than sleeping for some stupid reason). With a weary sigh he closed his eyes and let the tension seep from his body just as he heard his mom's voice coming from the direction of the stairs.

"David? I know you're tired, but you still have some things left that you need to pack before we leave."

Dave cracked open an eye and locked onto his mom's form peeping around the wall. "Can't you do it? I just wanna sleep."

His mom sighed, and Dave could visibly see the fight drain out of her. "Alright dear…just, you're going to need to be awake in time for us to leave in an hour."

Dave closed his eye once more and nuzzled his face into the couch as his mom made her way back up the stairs once more.

Mothers. Seriously.

* * *

The drive to the Lin- whatever-it-was-called (as he now officially knew it as) was long and uneventful; being nearly two hours south of Lima and a part of the northern bit of the Greater Cincinnati region, the place was set at a distance that might've not been all _that_ far away, but was far away enough for Dave to remember why he never liked traveling (arriving at the destination he loved – depending on where they were going, of course – but the drive? That he could do without). Once in Mason itself the drive proved to be much quicker and before he knew it they were traveling down the tree-laden road leading to the hospital place. When the sign that declared they had arrived at the 'Lindner Center of HOPE' (ah- so _that's_ what it was called) Dave knew that there was no hope for turning back (not that he'd thought that in the first place, but still).

Sooner than he'd hoped they'd pulled into the driveway and his mom was wheeling his single luggage bag up to the entrance of the building that looked a _lot_ more like a summer cottage or something than anything he'd expected it to have looked. (It _was_ a hospital after all, right? So it wasn't like he was _supposed_ to have thought it'd look like it really did). When they'd entered the building they were immediately greeted by a large lobby stocked with poofy chairs separated by plants and a desk area with writing in some grey-blue sorta color telling them that it was the Welcome Center. His mom and dad quickly made their way to the desk while he trailed behind at a much slower pace as he tried to take everything in.

This was where he was going to be living for god-knew-how-long. Somehow that thought did abso-fucking-lutely nothing for him.

Apparently he had been standing there in a daze (or whatever) for long enough for his parents to have talked to the welcome staff and for a different person to come and begin talking to them, something Dave only noticed after the person had already been talking for a little bit.

"-and there's a lot of other things he can do during his free time while here that I'll be showing you once we go in. So shall we?"

Dave blinked slowly as the-blonde-haired-woman-that-actually-kinda-looked-like-Quinn smiled at him and gestured on toward down the hallway that, Dave assumed, led to the actual hospital (and therefore less…vacation-looking like) part of the Center. After passing through the doors and being introduced to places that he couldn't even hope to remember the way to, one thing stuck with him: nothing really looked _anything_ like a hospital should. Everything looked a little too like a fancy hotel with wide-open sitting areas that were separated from a view of the outside by large panels of glass. The place even had a gym and a workout room, a room that was for people to "practice their spirituality" (as their guide put it), and some places outside that people could eat and hang out at when the weather was nice.

"Those are mostly for the people who reside in the Sibcy House, though, since they're at a much lesser risk of doing something than someone who is here for inpatient care like David is."

"So where's David going to be staying, then?"

"That'll be in the adolescent unit, which is where we'll be heading to next."

And like that they went on again through the maze that was his new temporary 'home', until they reached a pair of heavy-set doors at the end of a long hallway that actually started to make the place look more hospital-like than hotel-like; frankly the hallway reminded him of the emergency room and ICU at St. Rita's in Lima, a thought that he quickly pushed to the back of his mind lest it take over and not let go (kind of like what happened while at the psychiatric ward there, which was another thought that he blocked from his mind).

The woman had spoken again while he had zoned out and was now pushing the door open after keying in some code or whatever into one of those touchpad things that were used as security. Once inside Dave tensed, although he couldn't really figure out _why_. It wasn't like it really looked any different than the rest of the building that he'd been shown, but something still felt…_off_ about it that he couldn't quite put a finger on.

The woman's voice disrupted his thoughts before he could really start thinking at all, unconsciously making him pay attention to her now. "The adolescent unit is structured much like the rest of the Center is, with its own library and sitting areas that the patients can spend time at after their sessions are through. Each patient is given their own room, which I'll be introducing to you in just a bit, that has their own private bathroom attached to each. The unit also has its own dining room, which is quite a bit smaller than the one I showed you out in the main patient's area, but that's mainly because the dining room here in the unit caters to a much smaller group of people – there are only 16 bed here for adolescents after all – and out of that smaller group only those who are newly here or are experiencing trouble with anything usually eat there. Now, let me show you around before we get David here settled in."

Dave faded out once more as his mom started talking ("It's quite empty right now; where is everyone else at?") and let his eyes roam over the main area while his parents and the woman (whose name he still didn't actually know) started off again. It was a fairly homey room the main sitting area was, with poofy chairs that had faded flower patterns on them scattered around in blocks with a little marble table in the center of each little cluster. To the side of them was an enormous view of outside, only slightly less vast than the one out in the main part of the building, which was a picturesque view of the backyard (with its park-like aura and the benches and paths that circled the area), and the field and small forested region beyond. Dave was sure that during the spring the view would've been beautiful to look at with flowers blossoming and whatnot, but in the dead of winter and covered with snow all he could think of was that it looked _cold_.

"It's beautiful outside, isn't it?"

Dave turned his head in the direction the murmur had come from, and was greeted by the sight of the woman leading them around. Her gaze was locked not on him but on the scenery beyond the window that he had been looking at just before she arrived at his side. Stiffly he nodded his head and turned back to the window. "It looks…cold."

She chuckled softly. "That it does; makes me glad we're inside." They stood like that in silence for a few more moments before she turned away from the window with a smile. "Well, your parents are waiting for us over yonder. We certainly don't want to keep them waiting forever, do we?"

Dave shrugged and turned away from the window as well and began following her in the direction his parents had gone. He didn't really care either way, honestly, since it wasn't like he had _wanted_ to have been there in the first place.

* * *

After that they were introduced to where Dave was going to stay and the rest of the unit before they had left the teenager to unpack in his room all alone. With a sigh Dave shoved his luggage bag under his bed after having put all his clothes in the drawers and whatnot, and then threw himself onto his back on the bed. The place was clean and neat and…just _so_ unlike his room back home that it just felt so fucking _wrong_ to call this place his room even though that's precisely what it was.

His room. At a psychiatric ward. _Fuck_.

With another sigh he closed his eyes as he pushed the invading thoughts of why he was there to the back of his mind (again) and let his body practically _melt_ into the covers he lay upon. _Shit, he was tired__…_

"David honey? We're going to be going now, but we'll be back tomorrow to go over some things before we have to go back to Lima. We love you."

Dave grunted as he heard his parents come back into the room, but didn't bother opening his eyes to actually acknowledge them. Only when his mom bent over to give him a hug did he do something, by means of his arms encircling her shoulders and hugging her back. His dad was not far behind with his farewells, and when that was all over the two of them left him alone once more, his mom crying as she left and his dad doing the usual 'I-will-not-cry, only-women-cry' thing he had going on.

Deep down in him he knew that he should've been more bothered by his parents' departure, but right then…he was too tired to care, too tired to even _pretend_ to be able to care. All he could feel was the familiar numb from before that kept him company for the past few days that accompanied him into a dream-less slumber.

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**A/N:** And that's that chapter. The next one will have Dave's first day there, as well as the final consecutive appearance of his parents (they'll be back from time to time though XP). From here on out the story's going to have a slightly quicker pacing than what it's had until now, but it's going to have a lot of dialogue/mental dialogue as well, which just may end up slowing it back down but hey. It's not meant to be all that fast-paced anyway xD

Please read and review! :D They encourage me to keep writing haha and god knows I need all the encouragement I can get XP


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I ain't own anything 'cept the unknown folk.

**A/N:** Here's another Dave chap for y'all! :D And…I really need to stop forcing myself to write when I really really don't feel like it haha I end up writing things that really bother me, like this chapter (and the last two…).

_This fic is unbeta'd._

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**Until the Sun Shines Again**

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_Chapter Five_

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_Nobody trips over mountains. It is the small pebble that causes you to stumble. Pass all the pebbles in your path and you will find you have crossed the mountain._

_~ Author Unknown_

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Dave's day began at 8:00 with a quick shower (they weren't allowed to be in there for more than 10 minutes) and then breakfast in the unit's dining room at 8:15. The guide from the day before hadn't been lying when she said that it was going to be mostly empty, seeing as by the time breakfast was over half an hour later he had been joined by only two others, both of whom were seemingly oblivious to his presence not even four feet away from them; which suited him just fine, since he wasn't exactly willing to interact with anyone here beyond what he was supposed to.

After breakfast a young man, who introduced himself as being John Stegner, led him through the maze of hallways and rooms until they reached the part of the Center that looked the most like a hospital- considering it was labeled "medical exam room", that really wasn't all that surprising. It was there that they explained to him that they were going to perform a complete physical on top of some other tests and whatnot to rule out any possible alternative causes to his depression, and would be the place that his medical records from St. Rita's would be transferred to to help build his 'biopsychosocial history' as they told him it was called. The exam itself – along with all the tests they ran – took all the way until lunch time nearly 4 hours later to finish, where he found himself once again in company of the two people that had ignored him that morning, this time looking more alive (at least, awake) but not seeming like they were in any more of a mood to greet the new addition to the ward (which, again, suited Dave just fine).

When lunch finished (and for some reason not before), he was introduced to the nutritionist – Emily – who talked about the meals he'd be having while staying there and whatnot, and how they were going to be all healthy stuff (at least, that's what Dave got from the conversation). The meeting with her hadn't lasted long (just enough for her to ask about his usual eating habits and how things there would differ from that) and before he knew it he was on his way again, this time to meet with the person that was going to serve as his psychologist for an assessment, like the one he had done at St. Rita's that got him locked in the psych ward there and then here in the end.

_Why_, exactly, he had to do the same thing he'd done over at St. Rita's, here, he had no idea. Couldn't they just read the report or whatever that had been given to them by the Baker dude that came to their house a lot? Wouldn't whatever he'd written there be enough? Apparently not, but Dave wasn't really in any mood or had any will to argue that point and just went with it.

The visit had gone on as Dave had expected for it to, with the same old questions of why he had felt the need to attempt suicide, how he felt the past odd-number of weeks, if he still thought about suicide, if he slept alright…all these questions and more he answered in a clipped, apathetic manner, like he was someone who only knew the marginal details of his life rather than being _himself_. After about an hour and a half of questions dealing with his depression thing and then doing some test things that had to do with his IQ (which, for the life of him, Dave couldn't figure out why they needed to know but didn't feel like asking about), something came up that he hadn't been talked to about before.

"So, David, I believe it's time to discuss why you're here and what your expectations are, and how I can help you through this process."

Dr. Lutz (as he had been told upon meeting him) waited patiently for a response in the chair next to him, which Dave hadn't known he had been expected to give until the middle-aged looking man smiled at him in encouragement. Completely lost, Dave turned his attention away from the man and instead chose to look around the office. It was a fairly spacious room- each wall that he could immediately see was lined with bookshelves of books on subjects Dave couldn't even hope to figure out, as well as small potted plants with strings of leaves hanging everywhere and pictures of scenery and various baby animals playing around. Even the windows that backed Dr. Lutz's desk off to the side were covered in parts by pictures, although these pictures were drawings that looked like they came out of some elementary school art class; the subjects of the pictures were relatively the same as the photographs, however, with large landscapes and what looked mostly like kittens and puppies playing with a general happy feel to them.

All of the non-professional looking things in the room threw Dave off, and ended up returning his attention back to Dr. Lutz, who hadn't changed his position or expression any since he last spoke.

These people had way too much patience.

"I don't…know what you want me to say."

"Anything at all that you want; we're here for _you_ to talk about anything that's on your mind no matter what it is, be it about your feelings, your thoughts on me, this place, why you're here…anything. These sessions are yours, and I am only here for you to talk with these things about."

Dave didn't respond and closed his eyes with a soft sigh instead. Everything was for him…huh? This sudden open-ended-ness made him nervous; he liked the 'being asked' approach better- that way at least something came to mind rather than this completely blank feeling he had.

After nearly 30 seconds of silence, Dr. Lutz spoke. "How about you tell me how you ended up at the Center; I know we briefly touched on it before, but this time don't be afraid to share any and all details that come to mind, including any and all feelings or thoughts you had that led up to and including your suicide attempt."

Dave felt oddly comforted by the prompt, as the anxiety to come up with _something_ to talk about left him. "I'm here because my parents chose this place for me after staying at St. Rita's psych ward for a couple days. It's…different, here."

"How so?"

"I dunno…it just, is. S'a lot bigger here than over there." Dr. Lutz nodded in response, but didn't speak. Dave wrung his hands between his knees and licked his lips before continuing on. "I…I wanted to kill myself. That's why I'm here. Tried to kill myself with Tylenol, didn't work, woke up in the hospital."

"Was it immediately after your overdose?"

"No…I remember I took it Friday night…went to bed…woke up the next morning and nothing seemed different. Figured I'd messed up and didn't take enough, but I was too scared to take any more after that. And then another day passed and nothing happened…wasn't 'til I was almost at school the day after that did I start feeling something. It hurt like a bitch so I decided to just go home instead…got there somehow and put my shit away where its normally at, went to the bathroom to get some Tylenol to make the pain go away, but it hurt too fucking much or something because I ended up passing out in the bathroom before I could take any…" Dave's eyes glassed over as he remembered and emotionlessly continued on with his recollection. "I remember my mom coming in and crying…then being at the hospital with all them nurses and people asking questions…told me I must've been out for like nine, ten hours or something before I passed out again…then I remember waking up a while later with my mom and dad nowhere, but a nurse brought them when I asked…remember being so fucking _tired_ when all they wanted to do was talk so I kicked them out…never stopped being tired."

After that he remembered being released and then taken to the Baker guy and him saying something about him still being a danger to himself so he had to stay there for safety reasons, and then…nothing, really. All he could remember about his stay in the psych ward there was numb, emptiness…and fear.

* * *

Later that afternoon, some odd time after his session with Dr. Lutz ended, his parents returned.

And, apparently, they were there to do a lot more than just 'wrapping a few things up', or whatever it was that his mom had told him the day before. Which was why he was back where he had been already once that day.

"Meagan is on her way home, but she's agreed to stop someplace for a little while so she can join us over the phone. I hope that's alright, since she can't be here right now."

Dr. Lutz smiled (which Dave was now beginning to be convinced was his default expression) and nodded. "That's fine- we can put her on speaker." He rummaged into his jacket pocket for a moment before taking out a little box, which he fished a card out of and gave to Dave's mom. "She just needs to call that number- it's the one for here in my office."

His mom took the card with a quiet thank you and proceeded to give his sister a call while the rest of them waited in silence. Before long, the phone on Dr. Lutz's desk rang, and then Meagan was giving her hellos to everyone in the room simultaneously.

"Well then, there are a few reasons why I called everyone here today. One, is for me to understand how your family works as a unit so I can come to see what kind of family David is from, two, is for everyone to come to understand one another in regards to what David has done and is going through, and three, to learn where specific forms of support can be found for him when he is ready to be discharged."

Dave watched his parents nod in understanding (while his sister made a quiet 'okay' over the phone) as he willed himself to become one with the chair. Normally he liked being the center of attention (or, at least, it was better than being completely ignored) but under these circumstances…all it did was make him feel like an ass and made him want nothing more than to disappear- that'd solve all the problems, right?

"Meagan. From what your parents have told me, you haven't been able to be in contact with your younger brother very much due to your schooling and the distance between here in Ohio and Boston over in Massachusetts. Is there anything you would like to say to him?"

His sister's voice cracked with gentle sobs over the speaker, which only served to fill Dave with the only other real emotion besides numb, pain, and anger that he was capable of feeling: guilt. "I- I just…I love you Davie, you know that, right? And I…I don't…why couldn't you talk to me about whatever was going on? I thought we were…close, y'know? I thought that…if there were something you couldn't talk to mom or dad about, you could come to me…w-why did that…change?"

Dave's head hung as he spoke quietly. "You were…busy. With school, with your pregnancy…you already had more than enough problems to deal with; you didn't need to deal with mine too."

"But you're my _little brother_! You're…you're _supposed_ to come to me if you have a problem! I wouldn't have minded; don't you remember that's what we used to do?"

Dave did, and it didn't make him feel any better about things. "I'm sorry…"

His sister sighed. "It's alright, Davie. As long as…as long as you know you can talk to me when you need to, no matter what's going on with me, is enough. I just…want you to be okay, y'know?"

He knew, but being okay at this point didn't seem like an option that was open to him in the slightest. Pushing that thought to the side, he muttered an 'okay' before Dr. Lutz spoke again, this time addressing his parents about something or other that Dave unconsciously ignored, the feeling of guilt his sister had unknowingly instilled in him taking over and blocking all else out.

Things weren't going to change no matter how much his parents tried, his sister tried, the people here tried…all seemed like a hopeless situation that he could never get out of which only served to make everything that much worse.

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**A/N:** quite a bit shorter than the last few have been, but I wanted to stop that little thing after 'introducing' Dave's sister. So that's what I did.

Um…depending on if my muse feels like coming back, the next chapter should actually come out a little quicker than this one did. We shalt see, though.

Please review! :D


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